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Quote by Jim Morris

“There's no way you can convince a conventional military thinker that the price of success in guerilla war is pig shit. They'll accept casualties, privation, hunger, death, destruction, murder and the CIA. But they won't accept unshined belt buckles and they damn sure won't accept pig shit.”

Quote by Jim Morris

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Jim Morris

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“I just call a volunteer standing two steps next to me who holds his head out for too long after the shot. At that moment, his head jolts, the familiar and terrible dull sound of the bullet’s impact sounds, and the man slowly collapses. The bullet penetrated the forehead and tore off half the skullcap behind. Still mid-fall, he claws his hands into the wound and smears himself over and over with his own brain. It was a terrible sight.”

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Book:The Other Trench: The WW1 Diary and Photos of a German Officer
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“I will remember the perfect oval of your face, the warmth of your throat, the way you hold a pen when you write. Most of all . . .” He cupped my chin, his eyes roving over my upturned face. “I will remember a strange, beautiful girl who liked the feel of old books and drank her coffee sweet. She snuck onto my porch on a gray day and taught me to see in color. She was a thief, my rainbow-haloed girl. When she left, she took my heart. And if I had another, I would give her that too”

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Book:Mists of the Serengeti
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“My eyelids drooped, but I didn’t want to miss any of it—the way his fingertips were tracing the outline of my lips, the way his beautifully proportioned body felt against mine, the flecks of harvest gold in his sky-blue eyes. “Remember this.” He brushed the hair off my neck and breathed a kiss there. “When you’re curled up with your books on a rainy afternoon in England, remember how you painted my world with your colors. Remember your rainbow halo.” “I will.” A hot ache grew in my throat. He was already saying goodbye. “I’ll remember. For the rest of my life.”

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Book:From His Lips
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“His gaze traveled over my face for a long, still beat before falling on my neck. “I can’t bear the thought of you leaving,” he said to the mark his teeth had left there. “I stop breathing every time I think about it.” He found another one, closer to my collarbone, and pressed his lips to it. “I want you in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.” His voice was muffled, vibrating against my flesh with deep, soft resonance. “Will I miss you?” He lifted his head and looked at me. “Like a dream that starves and curls up beneath my bones.”

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Book:Mists of the Serengeti
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